The Likeness of Twilight Lost
by NickelS
Summary: A few days before her wedding, Arwen has a conversation with her grandfather. For Celeborn, Arwen's Choice only doubles the pain of an ancient loss.
1. Prologue

**The Likeness of Twilight Lost**

by NickelS

December 2006

Disclaimer: All characters, languages, and locations are the wonderful creations of JRRTolkien. This fic is my own fluffy rendition of his mythology.

* * *

"D'ada!"

As he looked down at his youngest grandchild tugging at the hem of his robe, Celeborn could feel Galadriel's amusement. He could see in his mind, the image that his wife saw: the elf-child, still very much a baby, with dark ringlets of hair and a bright face eagerly tilted to the sky in an effort to see the face of her grandfather, he who stood tall and slender as a silver tree. He gazed down at the tiny figure, daughter of his daughter, in awe of her brilliant eyes and smile. He knelt slowly and took her small hands in his, returning her smile.

"Hello, Tinu." He leaned forward and placed a light kiss on her brow.

She blinked happily as he withdrew and then turned and looked up at Galadriel, who had come to stand near them. "D'nana!"

"And good evening to you, Arwen," the lady replied, laughter and love evident in her tone.

Arwen turned back to look at Celeborn. "D'ada?" she said as if about to ask a question with her limited vocabulary.  
"Daeradar," he corrected her gently, "Tinu-nin."

"Daer…dar?" Arwen repeated carefully. "Up?" She extracted her hands from his loose hold and stretched both her arms over her head to demonstrate her wish.

"Of course," Celeborn laughed and obligingly lifted the child up carefully as he stood. Arwen instinctively grabbed onto his shoulder, but turned her head and giggled her pleasure from her new vantage point. It did not take long, however, for her to become dissatisfied with her place in the crook of her grandfather's arm so she started wriggling, nearly escaping his grasp as she tried to climb onto his shoulders. "Ho now, careful. Your daeradar is not so much of a tree as that. You may climb no further than this."

At first Arwen pouted, but decided that she would not listen to him and resumed trying to climb onto his shoulders, tugging on his hair for support. Galadriel laughed as she watched her husband trying to keep the child still while avoiding the small hands that grabbed for handholds on his face and in his hair.

_A little help, my wife?_ Celeborn asked, unable to spare the glance or the words necessary to Galadriel.

The lady merely smiled. "I do not think she needs any help, my silver tree."

"Truly," a silvery voice laughed as it approached, "she does not."

Both Celeborn and Galadriel turned to face their daughter, though Celeborn could barely see with his own eyes as the child grappling his head obscured his view. Arwen did briefly pause in her endeavour at the sound of her mother's voice, long enough for her grandfather to turn to his wife and speak around the child's fingers hooked over his lower teeth.

"I stand defeated." Handing Arwen over to Galadriel, he continued, once his mouth was empty, "You hold her. I doubt she will try to climb the crowned tree as she did this silver one."

Arwen looked disappointed at being rejected so easily, but her expression quickly changed as she discovered the radiance of Galadriel's hair, which she set forth to wind into knots immediately. Galadriel stroked the girl's dark hair before giving her husband a knowing look.

Celeborn sighed, pulling his hair back into proper plaits. "You see, I was right."

Celebrian giggled. "Arwen knows what and with whom she can get away with."

The elf-lord responded with the requisite harrumph.

"And," the lady of Imladris continued, "I think she has a certain fondness for you, Adar."

He did not reply, but looked to where Arwen was. By then Galadriel had taken the child over to a nearby fountain and they watched the wind carry blossom petals from the trees and coast them onto the water. Celeborn did not take his eyes off of them, a pensive expression settling across his face. Celebrian also watched her daughter and her mother for a moment, before instinct returned her gaze to consider her father's expression.

"Is something the matter, Adar?" she teased, with only the barest hint of concern in her eyes.

"Nay, istil-nin," he sighed, placing an arm around her shoulder, but his gaze remained transfixed, as he turned the thought that had struck him over in his mind.

She could hear the unusual weight of his thoughts in the way he said the pet name that he used to call her by. The word had always sounded distinctive before, because it was Doriathrin and few now besides her father could speak it, but this time it sounded like an echo from before the moon and the sun. Celebrian leaned into her father to comfort him, encourage him to share his thoughts.

"Arwen..." he began, uncertain if he should or could voice his musings.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"_Cel'born!" _

_The silver-haired elf looked down in amazement at the small child staring up at him from where she had latched onto his knee. Her large grey eyes shined with laughter and a delighted giggle escaped her now that he had acknowledged her presence. Though not the youngest elf in the room, being well into his third yen, Celeborn had somehow attracted the much sought after attention of Doriath's tiny princess. Wherever she went, people would watch and hover around her with awe, marvelling at everything she did, and now Celeborn felt the sudden attention of more than just the little girl watching him. At first he was at a loss for what to do or even say to the elf-child, and looked around rather sheepishly at the others seated at the table. _

_Melian smiled warmly at him, "Lúthien would like to play with you."_

_As if to reaffirm the suggestion, Lúthien repeated, "Cel'born!"_

"_His name is Cel_eb_orn, sweetheart," Melian corrected gently, emphasizing the syllable that Lúthien had trouble remembering._

_The young elf-lord could not help but grin from ear to ear. Bending closer to the small round face, framed with black hair, he said: "I am very honoured, your Highness." _

_Lúthien squealed happily and tugged his trouser leg as he stood up and let her lead him down to the open floor and into her own little dance. They continued thus for nearly an hour, he sometimes taking her up and swinging her around, she sometimes demanding a new song to be sung by him. He obliged laughingly to her every request, as only one could do for a beloved child. _

_When Celeborn returned to the table briefly for a drink, Lúthien hot on his heels to drag him back to the dance floor, Elu Thingol laughed at his beleaguered kinsman. "You think this is bad, nephew? Imagine, were you not busy with duties of the realm so oft, every hour of every day would be like this, as it is with me." At this, Lúthien bounded away from Celeborn and climbed onto her father's lap. Elu received her with a great smile._

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Celeborn had become very still. Uncertainty was not something Celebrian was used to seeing in her father and seeing him so lost disturbed her a little. Apparently Galadriel had felt it too, for her thoughts came unbidden to soothe them both, although she remained outwardly engaged in conversation with the child in her arms. _What is it that troubles you, melleth-nin?_

Neither lady was quite prepared for the keening of his fëa when he answered. It shocked them to stillness and silence. Arwen looked curiously at her grandmother, who had stopped speaking in mid-sentence.

Celeborn's shoulders dropped and his face tilted irresistibly towards the stars.

_Arwen has the exact likeness of Lú__thien!_

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He had been the first to notice. In fact, he was the only one who could notice, for who else remaining had been there in ancient Doriath when Lúthien the Fair was but a small child? Who else would notice that even at an early age, Arwen, daughter of Elrond, fair-faced child with grey eyes and dark hair, appeared as a reflection of her most beautiful ancestor? Was it mere coincidence that –even before he noticed the resemblance- the nickname he had given her in his mind, _Tinu_, little star, sounded like _Tinúviel_ of old?

When Arwen had first learned to walk and speak, Celeborn marvelled at how her likeness reminded him of Lúthien. Though the sight of his granddaughter brought forward a flood of remembrance, not all of them happy, he thanked Eru every time he saw her that a part of Lúthien remained in Arda. As he came to know his youngest grandchild better, he also grew to love her as much as, if not more than, he had loved his cousin.


	2. Chapter 1

Disclaimer**:** It's all Tolkien's, you know that. Galathil is mentioned in the Sindarin version of Celeborn's geneology as discussed in _Unfinished Tales_.  
He and Celeborn are also featured in my Silmarillion fic, "The Branching of Trees."

* * *

It was at twilight nearing mid-summer when Arwen walked silently along the outskirts of the elven encampment two days ride from Minas Tirith. As she stepped into the shadow of a tree, she discovered that Galadriel had given her very precise directions indeed. She paused for a moment, watching her grandfather as he lay sleeping, sprawled rather carelessly on the grass. Though all of Ennor breathed anew, finally relieved of the darkness some weeks past, Celeborn slept with his eyes open. Yet, knowing her grandfather as well as she did, Arwen knew that this had less to do with a residual sense of caution than with his desire to experience the pinpricks of light appearing slowly in the wake of the diminishing sunset.

A slight smile managed to pull at the edges of her lips. Ever since she was little it had amused her that while Galadriel was always the perfect embodiment of a noble and great ruler, gracious and awe-inspiring to all, Celeborn was a different case entirely. Although he wore the mantle of a king with perfect ease, Arwen suspected that it was merely a habit not indicative of his unpretentious – though sometimes rude - personality. At times like this, he appeared to be as content with the natural world around him as any sylvan elf.

_Why do you linger, little one?_ Celeborn asked without warning, still engaged with the light of Varda.

Arwen blinked, slightly startled and embarrassed. She should have known better.

"I did not wish to surprise you, Sire," she admitted out loud.

She heard his laughter in her mind.

"That would hardly have been possible, my dear." Unhurriedly, he sat up and shifted to face her, an easy smile lighting his expression, but his eyes observed her carefully. "Now," he tapped the ground next to him, "sit."

She did as she was told, settling silently beside him at a partial angle so that she could see the starlight on his face.

He glanced over his shoulder back to the campsite where the firelight and merry-making was just beginning. "What brings you to risk surprising me?"

Arwen was too distracted to smile, thus gaining Celeborn's full attention. She answered: "Daernaneth suggested that I speak to you."

His eyebrows rose in surprise, but he remained silent, waiting for her to begin.

When she hesitated, the sad lowering of her eyelids told him that Galadriel had given her sound advice likely without needing to breach the topic. His wife could comfort their granddaughter as well as he, but now he knew why she had declined and sent Arwen to him. At once, Celeborn was sympathetic.

He suggested gently, "I have noticed that your father has not spoken much to you of late."

"It seems like he may not again." Arwen shook her head vaguely, appearing dark with worry in the starlight.

By all rights she should have been glowing with excitement now that they were three days from her wedding, but the consequences of the Choice weighed heavily upon her. Her expression made her look vulnerable and he marveled at her resemblance to so many that had worn that look of ageless sorrow, whom he had loved and lost. Here, his Evenstar sat, a living reminder of ancient Doriath in twilight.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_"Unbelievable."_

_ At his brother's bitter exclamation, Celeborn was careful not to look up from where he was sitting. He hardly dared to breathe before the argument – which he was thankfully not a part of – was rejoined._

_ "Believe or not, Galathil," Lúthien replied firmly, her cool grey eyes not wavering from her cousin's green ones,"but I shall be bound to Beren Barahirion whether my father allows it or not." _

_ Her declaration hung over the three of them, unchallenged momentarily, as Lúthien glared at her two silver-haired cousins, the one standing with a posture of indignation, the other sitting, apparently studying the pattern on the carpet. When he felt her gaze settle on the top of his head, Celeborn finally sighed heavily and looked up, but avoided Lúthien's eyes. Instead, he glanced uncertainly at his brother, whose expression seemed to be twisting even as his thoughts were forming._

_ "Fie! What folly for a_ Man,_" Galathil bit out through gritted teeth, as if in pain, his emotions choking his usual eloquence. _

_ "Beren is noble and courageous. Some of the Eldar cannot claim as much," Lúthien retorted immediately. "None is more worthy of my love, as I have already told Father." The stubbornness in her expression indeed reminded the brothers of Thingol. _

_ "In your heart," the older prince continued as if she had not spoken, "surely you must know this love cannot be true. It is a passing fancy, brief as the life of a Man. The life of a Firstborn is not meant to be joined with one of such brevity. Eru has not gifted us to be the same. How can you even _think_ -"_

_ "_All_ of Eru's Children have been gifted with the same ability to love."_

_ *It is unnatural!_*

_ Lúthien gasped, as if physically struck, so strong was Galathil's vehemence. Even Celeborn winced from the forcefulness of his brother's projection, but the princess recovered quickly. _

_ "How dare you!" Closing her mind to them, her tone was sharp, "Do not presume to judge my fate or anyone else's as if you alone could divine Eru's intentions."_

_ Galathil did not respond, his lips pressed into a thin line. Already, he was sorry for losing his temper so childishly with Lúthien, as he had perhaps done when they were much younger. His shame and inability to accept her decision regarding Beren burned darkly in his heart. However, the eldest son of Galadhon was no fool, and he could see also that there was no changing her mind. With no recourse left to him, he made to leave. _

_ With all the stubborn haughtiness a prince of the Sindar could muster, Galathil declared, "I am returning to Ossiriand."_

_ "But you have only just arrived!" Celeborn finally broke his silence while leaping to his feet. "Surely you could stay and rest awhile before traveling again."_

_ Galathil stopped abruptly at the door, but did not turn, his back stiffly straight. His tone was one of resignation, "I came only to hear it from Lúthien directly." He continued out into the hall._

_ Lúthien brushed past Celeborn to the door. "Wait! Galathil!"_

_ His voice came back to them, but grew fainter with each word. "You do not want to hear what I have to say and I cannot bear what you are doing. There is nothing left to discuss."_

_ "A Elbereth!" Lúthien huffed under her breath, "Such stubborn relatives."_

_ Celeborn stared after his brother for a fraction before turning to Lúthien, "Now look what you have done." _

_ "What _I _have done?" She turned to face him fully now, and he fought the urge to back away. "I suppose you agree with him. Are you going to storm out in a silly tantrum too?"_

_ "I _do_ agree with him," Celeborn sighed, but hastened to add, "but who in Doriath, be he commoner or king, would not?"_

_ Disgusted, Lúthien turned away. _

_ "Lúthien -"_

_ "I do not want to hear it from you as well," she interjected, but he thought he heard an uncharacteristic waver in her voice._

_ He remained silent for a long moment, unsure of what to say, until he realized that she had begun to weep. Slowly he stepped around to face her and placed his hands gently on her shoulders, bending slightly to try and catch her watery gaze with his own. She did not yield to his attempt at comfort._

_ "Galathil was being extreme," he said by way of apology, trying to undo some of the damage from his brother's departure. Then, because that did not seem an adequate thing to say, he added, "His anger only masks his fear. He is terrified, you know, because he cares so much about you. We all do."_

_ Head still lowered, she squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head violently. *He questioned my judgment. I know I am right, Celeborn. It hurts that he has no confidence in me and my feelings.*_

_ He found his voice was quiet when he spoke,"You know he will think better of all this, in time."_

_ "Will he?" she mused, and finally she looked up at him. "Will you?"_

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"He will," Celeborn assured his granddaughter, confident that Elrond would, in time, speak with Arwen before departing for the Undying lands. Her father had, after all, given his blessing for her marriage, and not merely to keep his word. Celeborn knew that even though Arwen's decision to be counted among mortals, thus claiming her birthright, was not the ideal future that Elrond would have wanted, it must indeed be easier to accept her marriage to Aragorn now that the man was made King and Middle-Earth was free. He also knew that the Peredhil was extremely proud of his beloved foster-son; they all were. There was no living Man greater or more worthy of Arwen's hand. Now the couple's future together was certain and blissful, except for this.

Arwen did not look at him until he leaned over and placed a hand gently on one side of her head in an act of comfort.

"He will, but you must be aware," he continued, "it is not easy for your father to lose so many things with such finality all at once."

"Yes," she nodded slowly. "I know the loss of his ring has affected him too. He has become so withdrawn, and not only from me."

Celeborn's jaw tightened inadvertently at the mention of a Ring of Power, reminded of the troubles of his own ring-bearer. He shook his head slightly. It was not just a ring causing Elrond's ill temper. "He is weary, as is Galadriel, but this land is all he has ever known, and now it too comes to an end for him. He will have to say farewell to an entire world, and you with it." His voice had dropped to a near whisper with his last words, and he let his hand drop too.

Seeing him retreat into himself, Arwen perceived something else behind her grandfather's words. "Do you speak of my father," she asked gently, "or do you speak of yourself?"

Celeborn found that as he looked at her, he did not have to force a smile with much effort, "Both, as you have rightly guessed." Then he laughed, though it felt more hollow than he would have liked, "Although you will not be rid of me so easily. I will not be sailing when your father does."

_Wh__at of Galadriel? _Arwen gasped. She could not imagine one of them without the other.

Celeborn shook his head quickly, _It is all right._ "We have already come to a consensus. Your grandmother and your father sail out of necessity, but there is still much to do after a war. This is not the right time for me to abandon any that wish to linger. However, I must admit that I am in no hurry to leave these shores."

She stared wide-eyed at him. He almost looked excited, as much as an immortal king should look excited about anything.

"I had thought to tell you after your wedding," he confessed. "Galadriel and I have only recently come to terms with the idea, and with everything going on around you, it seemed of little consequence. They will not sail for another year at least."

"I... I welcome the news, Daeradar." Her smile was small, but sincere with relief. "A year is not so long, and it eases my mind to know that you will still be here afterward."


	3. Chapter 2

_Spring, Year 2980 of the Third Age_

_ Among his travels, Aragorn arrived at the borders of Lothlorien and by Galadriel's grace was admitted therein. He and Arwen wandered together for a season under the golden trees._

_xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx_

_High upon the tallest tree of Caras Galadhon, Celeborn stood upon the very edge of the flet that held the series of screens that served as his rooms. His bare toes curled over the edge of the wooden planks as if this tenuous grip could prevent him from falling over if he leaned too far forward while glaring down to the forest floor far, far below. Indeed, he had to correct significantly to stand straight when he heard the near silent pad of his wife coming up behind him. _

_ "It is rude to intrude upon others so, my lord," Galadriel chided softly. She came to the edge of the talan and glanced briefly over the edge herself, confirming what she had suspected her husband to be looking at, before looking back at him. _

_ Though he wore no obvious expression, the light in his green eyes was wroth. _

_ "Come away, love," she soothed, moving to take his hand and lead him back into the interior. _

_ For the first time they both noticed how tightly his fists were closed. Celeborn eased his hands open slowly and forced himself to breathe evenly as he allowed her to take his hand._

_ "She has not made her Choice yet," the Lady reminded him._

_ The Lord retracted his hand in agitation. "You heard her say once that he called her __Tinúviel when they met__!" Then he laughed bitterly at the irony. "So shall I send this Man against the Enemy as Thingol did to Beren? Should he fail, the race of Men will fail; Should he succeed, I will lose my granddaughter, and __Lúthien__ twice over." _

_ "She is not __Lúthien." Galadriel's tone was hard._

_ "No," Celeborn admitted quietly. "Yet, the Man has some potential, and I should not like to see one such as him fall before the darkness."_

_xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx_

"When did you know, Daeradar?" Arwen asked, the faint light from the campsite lending its glow to the right side of her face.

"Know what?" Celeborn deflected, leaning back against the tree that he had been found sleeping under.

"Know that I would choose a mortal life. For it seemed to me that you alone were not surprised when I told the news that Aragorn and I were betrothed."

Her grandfather shook his head. "In truth," said he, "I had feared it might be so all your long life, but it was a sleeping fear. Only when you had told us of your first encounter with Aragorn did we know that the time for your choice was nigh. Though others hoped, I did not."

"Yes, I remember now the look on your face when I told the story of the first meeting. In jest, I meant it to be," she said apologetically. "Yet, I wonder at your restraint during that spring we were in Lorien. If by then you had not hope that I would remain counted among the Firstborn, then it must have been difficult."

Celeborn sighed, "I could scarce stand to be in his presence when I perceived the depth of his thought for you, but perceive it I did. Having seen others of the like, your love seemed to me to be something fated. I may be stubborn, as your daernaneth knows only too well, but she would say that I have lived this long because I can recognize when Fate is insurmountable."

Arwen laughed freely at this description, and he was glad to hear it.

They were quiet for a moment before Arwen continued, "Did I ever tell you, that he was terrified of you, initially?"

"Indeed?" An eyebrow rose elegantly in surprise. "I should have used that to better advantage."

"Why did you think Aragorn and I spent so much time up at Cerin Amroth?" Arwen grinned knowingly. "We were both afraid you would leap down from any tree in Caras Galadhon and slaughter him!"

"I dreamt of no such thing," Celeborn declared loftily.


	4. Chapter 3: Until the End of All Things

Author's Notes:  
Borrowing an idea from Marnie's excellent Celeborn fics where his mother is Laiquendi, my convenient history for Galathil is that he would have to have left Thingol's court for Ossiriand after the Sindarin-only war against Morgoth when Denethor is killed, thus leaving Celeborn behind to inherit the title of "Prince."  
The purpose for the following was to parallel the two brothers & Luthien to Elladan, Elrohir & Arwen, but I didn't get that far.

* * *

_Autumn of the 503rd Year of the Sun, First Age_

Despite it being the middle of the night, Celeborn could not sleep. Instead, he was in his sitting room trying unsuccessfully to read himself into a stupor with one of Daeron's old scripts when a messenger arrived at the outer door of his chambers to notify him that his brother had been met by the Royal Guard in Menegroth. Even though he had been awake, Celeborn asked what might be of such importance that a messenger needed to disturb him in the middle of the night. Being a prince, Galathil could return to Doriath whenever he pleased. As welcome as the news of his arrival was to Celeborn, that alone was not warranted before morning.

The elf messenger apologized to his lord, but said that there must be something of dire significance since his brother had forgone all formality and had requested to see King Dior immediately.

Celeborn felt dread seize his mind. Thanking and dismissing the messenger, he returned to his room briefly, careful not to think too loud as he pulled on an outer robe and belt. He paused briefly to regard Galadriel as she slept soundly in their bed, but knew that if he looked too long or if he touched her she would wake instantly to the disquiet in his mind. It was better to let her sleep while he went to find his brother.

He reached the doors of the king's private audience chamber just as Galathil was coming out of it and into the hallway. The latter was still carrying his pack and dressed in the simple green traveling clothes of Ossiriand. Though disheveled, it was the expression that his brother wore which halted Celeborn's advance, warm greetings dying upon his lips. A fortnight's unbroken grief was etched upon Galathil's features.

No word needed to be said as his brother regarded him in grim silence, and Celeborn knew the truth of what he had feared. The day he knew would eventually come had finally passed, and still the foreknowledge of it had not prepared him for its true impact.

"Tell me you are not here for the reason I think you are," Celeborn nearly choked.

Galathil did not grant a reply to the feeble attempt at denial. He stared back unblinkingly, driving the awful truth into his younger brother through his eyes.

Celeborn swallowed with difficulty, reaching for the wall to steady himself. _So soon... How could it be so soon?_ But he knew that Lúthien and Beren had lived a full span of years by the reckoning of Men. Was their son Dior not a man full grown, king of Doriath and now with children of his own? He felt his legs fold beneath him and he slid with his back against the wall to the floor. _She... our Lúthien... gone?_

_She is dead_, Galathil corrected him bitterly, mirroring his brother as he too lowered himself to the ground, sitting opposite him. _If gone, then gone beyond all the circles of this world and forever beyond our reach._

Celeborn hung his head, the tears already trailing down his face. _Lost_, the thought emerged, but though he knew not how Men felt about Death, he now knew the fullness of sorrow – of losing without ever the hope of finding – that he would have to endure for all time.


	5. Chapter 4: Above All Treasure

"_Then Aragorn took leave of Celeborn and Galadriel; and the Lady said to him: 'Elfstone, through darkness you have come to your hope, and have now all your desire. Use well the days!'_

_But Celeborn said: 'Kinsman, farewell! May your doom be other than mine, and your treasure remain with you to the end!'"_

_- _Many Partings_, The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King_

* * *

The two elves under the tree were gazing at the stars while the night deepened. A southerly wind coming over the White Mountains blew chill over them. Despite the season, Arwen shivered a little and hugged her knees. For a moment, Celeborn did not seem to notice and remained motionless, watching the sky. Then, reluctantly, he looked down at her huddled in the grass next to him and frowned in consideration at this unprecedented display of frailty.

Studying her grandfather in turn, Arwen sensed a light about him flare briefly, perhaps in wrath or in fear; a light that could not be seen with her eyes, one with no source other than Celeborn himself. Recognizing this, she knew that Galadriel, too, had developed her life force to an even greater extent, and neither of them were quite the same as when Arwen had been young. She supposed it was the evolution of their fëar since they were so very old: more ancient than Arnor and Ithil themselves. Then she sighed, for it was a state of being that she knew she would never achieve.

Breaking his gaze, she looked down and forlornly picked up a fallen branch from among the grass at the foot of the tree they sat under. She turned it between her fingers and was briefly absorbed in the act of examining it. When she looked back up, her words were bitter.

"See. Here I am," her gaze lifted to encompass the spread of the tree above them, "but a branch fallen and with my brethren no longer." She tossed the stick away with a tired flick of her wrist. It disappeared in the long grass at her feet. Her voice lowered with her mood, "Destined am I to die small, like that twig, though born of a great tree was I."

Celeborn nodded gravely at the analogy but he leaned forward to pluck the discarded branch from the ground again. This time, Arwen watched as her grandfather held it up for inspection.

"Long have I pondered the fates Eru has chosen for us," he mused.

Arwen expected him to say more, but he did not for a time, merely turning the branch to study the angles. Finally he stilled. When Celeborn's eyes met hers again, Arwen nearly gasped from the brief flash of pain that he had failed to conceal in time. Galadriel had never yet displayed such a lack of discipline, Arwen realized, even as she felt a knot forming at the back of her throat that threatened to choke her with the knowledge of Celeborn's grief. She would expect such a look from her father and her brothers, not that theirs was any easier to bear, but her grandfather, like her grandmother, had never pleaded with her to rethink her decision, not even with his eyes. Now she knew just how much it cost them to not show their anguish.

Recovering himself, and sensing his granddaughter's increased distress, Celeborn forced himself to relax, banishing the memory of that night when the Nauglamir was returned to Menegroth and the news that had come with it. He managed a tense, non-committal expression.

"But look, _hên__-__nín_," he said softly, holding up the broken tree branch, "not all is lost."

She watched as he took out a small knife from a concealed pocket in his boot. The blade and handle were notched and fashioned where they connected so that the former could swivel in and out of a slot in the latter. He flipped the blade out and began to methodically strip the rough bark away from the branch to reveal the pale wood beneath. He began to carve a delicate design out of the wood in a display of dexterity that she had not seen for centuries. A slender branch emerged from his whittling, less than the width of her smallest finger but longer than twice the span of her hand, new shoots and leaves unfurling from one end of the shaft in imitation of the branch it once was.

When he was finished, he ran his finger over the now smooth stick before offering it reverently to her with these words:

"You have transformed." Though his words were solemn, she could hear the pride take hold in his voice. "In so doing, you will become what we can never be. The tree cannot change what it is, but you, my child, you alone have this unknown potential."

Arwen received his gift with care, cradling each end in her hands. Her gaze swept over this new thing.

She spoke softly, as if to herself: "And what will I become?" When she looked back up in silent question as to what he thought, he made a wry smile.

"How would I know? I am only a tree," he shrugged. She returned his smile weakly, so he sighed. "Perhaps Aragorn can offer you better insight. He is your shaper now."

Arwen inclined her head in earnest silence. Taking her gift, she began twisting her hair into a solid black rope before winding it in on itself at the back of her head. Finally, she inserted the wooden stick and rotated it to keep the twist of her hair in place.

Celeborn smiled appreciatively before standing to brush the wood shavings off of his clothes. Arwen stood as well.

"Thank you, D'ada."

With that, she seemed like a child to him again and he reached out to pull her into a tight hug, whether to comfort her or himself, he could not be sure. He knew the longer he held her, the sooner he would lose his composure, but could not let go just yet.

_May the stars light your path, wherever you go, my little one. _

Slightly muffled against his chest, Arwen said gently, "Where I shall go after death, Men believe there is a new kind of life." She had not thought it possible for his hug to become even tighter, but she pressed on. "They believe that they will meet their forebears and those that have gone before. When I meet her, I will tell her..."

Celeborn stepped back so quickly in alarm that Arwen did not finish her thought, but she smiled sympathetically at him. Holding her at arms length he stared at her with wonder, eyes wide and glistening strangely in the dark. He started to say something, but struggled to find the words.

_If you meet her, _he began, the thought foreign to him at first, but soon flooding his mind. His vision began to blur and waver. _Give __Lúthien__ my love. _

_All of my love..._

_...goes to you both._

* * *

Notes:

_hên__-__nín = _my child

Like many before me, I initially misinterpreted Celeborn's final words to Aragorn to be a comparison between the couples themselves. This gave rise to the many angsty parting Galadriel fics out there (not saying that's bad! I love angsty C&G fics as much as the next girl). Now, however, I know he is referring to the fact that Arwen's doom is no longer the same as his, and when she dies he will never see her again :'( Tolkien often refers to Arwen/Luthien as the "treasure" not only of their lovers, but also of their fathers.


	6. Chapter 5

Author's Note: Thanks everyone for reading/reviewing!

This final scene with Galadriel is the original idea that started this whole adventure (go figure). I wrote it nearly a decade ago but had no idea how to characterize Arwen to develop the main story arc. A few years later I came up with the Prologue and was very pleased with that too. 2007-2008 was long enough away from when the movies came out so that Arwen finally began to develop in my mind closer to canon: she seems more sad/serious, while Luthien to me has always been more bold. Finally I decided it was time to buckle down and complete this.

Thank you for joining me on this journey.  
NickelS, April 17, 2011

* * *

Once they were alone in their tent, Galadriel sat down on the mat and guided Celeborn down to her. He wiped at his emerging tears and sighed a shaky breath before lying down next to her, his head in her lap.

_ Hush_, she thought, trying to calm him with as much influence as she could muster. She ran her fingers beneath his right eye, across his temple, over his ear and into his hair. They remained in stillness for several moments, eyes locked in the dark. Then Galadriel lifted her head and began to sing.

When he recognized the song, Celeborn muffled a moan by burying his face against her navel, but his wife continued singing, cradling his head to her even as he pressed both of his hands up to her lower back as if that could stop the pain, his body curling around hers. Her voice soared with each of his sobs, drawing strength from his deepest sorrow, taking his anguish and transmuting it into melodious sound as only she could through their bond. Gradually, as he listened to her beautiful voice singing the song whose melody she altered to blend with the music coming from without their tent, his grief bled away ever so slowly. She stroked his hair and his back until his shuddering ceased and the pressure of his hands relaxed. Her voice softened, but was no less poignant.

Eventually, Celeborn forced himself to a sitting position and waited for the next verse. When Galadriel's voice finally faltered with the tears trickling down her cheeks, he pulled her now trembling body gently into his embrace and continued singing from where she had left off. Thus they passed the song back and forth to each other, one singing while the other wept, until they had finished singing the Lay of Lúthien.

_xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx _

With her husband's voice still echoing in her ears, Galadriel dashed away the last of her tears and lifted a hand to his cheek. _You are feeling better now?_ She offered a sad smile, but there was no real need to ask.

"Much," he tilted his head to kiss her hand, _Thank you_."Yourself?"

"Verily. Let us not do that again," she slid her arm around his waist, _for a long while_.

"I agree," he sighed, resting his head against hers. For a time, they listened to the sounds of the campsite, quieter now before the dawn.

_Sad, though I may be at times,_ he mused absently, _I thank Eru every day that of the five most beautiful ladies I have ever known in my long life, one of them is still here_.

"Just who might that be?" She gave him a small squeeze.

Celeborn chuckled. He did not need to look at her face to know the expression she wore, but he wanted to see it anyway. "The one that is most beautiful whom I love." Leaning in, his lips found hers._ I believe they call her Galadriel, the Lady of Light of the Golden Wood, fairest daughter of all the Noldor, etcetera, etcetera_.

_Right_. Her grin broke their kiss. Though she often tired of hearing her beauty praised, she never minded it when he did so. "So there were five beautiful ladies in your life were there?" she teased, knowing exactly the answer to that as well.

"Of course," he responded in kind, as he listed them for her,"Melian, Lúthien, yourself, our daughter, and Undomiel."

Galadriel's laughter punctuated the relative quiet in their tent.

After they settled back into a comfortable position, she spoke seriously, her voice low. "The sooner you come to Aman, the sooner you may see at least two more of those whom you love."

Celeborn knew this was the only appeal she would ever make regarding the matter of his stay. Galadriel did not plead.

"Indeed, that is something to look forward to, dearest," he admitted, equally serious, "but not while there yet remains one this side of the Sea."

"So that is your promise," she said simply, tightening her arms around him.

"Yea, it is." Celeborn closed his eyes, suddenly feeling truly weary. _I will miss her_.

Galadriel had to agree. _So will we all_.

* * *

~ _Fin_

* * *

_Note: _Yes, I realize it would probably have taken them hours (days?) to sing the entire Lay of Lúthien. Hopefully it was an abridged version ;)


End file.
